Hauschka

German pianist and composer Volker Bertelmann, who has recorded under the alias Hauschka since the 2004 release of his debut album, Substantial, creates beautifully vivacious compositions using a piano "prepared" in any number of atypical ways-- an experimental technique first promoted by John Cage in the 1930s. Although occasionally similar in feel to the music of Yann Tiersen or his Fat Cat labelmate Max Richter, Hauschka's sound has a definitive, singular texture. His fourth album, Ferndorf, is a striking continuation of his previous explorations with the piano, and a moving addition to an already impressive body of work.

Bertelmann corresponded with us by email, discussing how his new album took shape, the relationship between image and music, and how childhood memories can often provide the best material when composing.

Pitchfork:Ferndorf is named after the small town in mountainous rural Germany where you spent the first 20 years of your life. Many of the track titles also mirror themes of childhood. How has nostalgia and your close ties with nature influenced this album?

Volker Bertelmann: Well, I always felt strongly connected to the region where I was born. But after leaving school, the only clear thought I had about my life was to leave this provincial area and go to places where real life was happening.

I am still happy to be close to the city, [to be] connected to the intellectual source in Ferndorf. In this area, [I feel] connected with nature and unimportant in a postitive way.

Memories were in my mind during nearly all the concerts I've done, and I realized the deep connection to my childhood, when I went out in the morning and the only thing my mom said was, "Come back before dark." What trust and what freedom!

So Ferndorf is a mirror into the present state I am in, which combines the acceptance of the past with the importance of creating something new. I tried to find an expression for that by using names of existing places and short, intense memories. For example, "Blue Bicycle" is presenting the freedom to escape... and on the other side, the utopia, the world that you carry around in your mind, full of unreal emotions, imprecise memories, stories that never happened, all colorized by your own view of the world and your interpretation of things that happened.

At the same time, these are the stories I have, and that is my reality.

I still visit my village quite often, as my parents and one of my sisters live there, but also I feel the village is more of an isolated, unreal part of me. When I'm walking with my father through the woods, and we reach a place where you see so far that your ego suddenly shrinks because you are so touched by the dimension of your surroundings, I think then I am in Ferndorf.

Pitchfork: Is there a track on the album that brings to mind a story or adventure you had while growing up in Ferndorf? If so, how do you feel that this story is communicated by the music?

VB: Well, for example, "Freibad" is the German word for an outdoor swimming pool. If you [saw] pictures of the swimming pool I am talking about, you would understand that it is different from a normal [one]. In this region around Ferndorf, every village has its own swimming pool [outdoors].

The freibad in Ferndorf is surrounded by needle trees and is really just a lake with some stairs and a board for jumping into the water. There are similar lakes all over the world that are somehow quiet and secret places. Maybe while I am describing it, I realize that it is looking different, but that is how memory works: Somehow it brings things to the surface and other things get dropped. So it becomes a world [of] its own.

When I was young, this was the place where I first met girls, where I hung out with motorcycle gangs, or where we were listening to our new records. We went swimming naked in the dark, which was absolutely great. I also remember riding home from a wonderful day with only my bathing shorts, losing the chain of my bicycle, having no hand breaks, and slipping high speed on a street covered with stones. I had to go to the hospital. I am mentioning this because the music of "Freibad" reminds me of the fast bicycle ride to and from the swimming pool. I couldn't wait to get there, and in the evening I couldn't wait to come home, because I was so hungry and fulfilled with the day.

I have this feeling still. Maybe the most similar is when I can't wait to meet somebody... or when I am in love.

The second track I want to mention is "Eltern", which reflects my deep emotional connection with thankfulness to my parents. I like to express true emotions under the cover of melancholy: It includes fulfilment and pain, which describes human existence.

Pitchfork: The new music video is for "Eltern". It's the first of a beautiful triptych of pieces by the Massachusetts duo Overture, whose animation style is reminiscent of Marcel Dzama or Hayao Miyazaki. The video features a yellow monster, Kapok, who meets a mysterious, string-playing fellow monster, Bryum, in the forest. Could you explain how you initially started working with Overture, and how the ideas and themes for this video developed? Did you work with them closely on the project? Which two tracks will be used for the upcoming videos?

VB: I met Jason and Aya from Overture on my last U.S. tour with Múm. I played the Somerville Theater in Boston, and they came after the show and gave me their card and some little stickers. I really like animations, and I really liked the style of their Múm video.

When I was nearly finished with the music for Ferndorf, I got in touch with them, asking if they were interested in collaborating. I had in mind that I would like to do a kind of story. I always liked stories that carry on and have a different format from the normal music video. During Christmas time, on German television they show films with three or four episodes, and I quite like the feeling of waiting for the next episode.

So we discussed this idea, and they came up with the story for Bryum and Kapok. It's a kind of fable, very simple in its content, but I really liked the idea, and so I started to send them tracks incorporating their story ideas. We had a couple of conversations about it, and on the other side there was enough freedom for them to develop their own art.

The next video will be for the track "Heimat" and the third episode is based on "Freibad".

Pitchfork: This is your first album to strongly feature a string duo. How did you meet the cellists Insa Schirmer and Donja Djember? Since Hauschka is a solo project, what were the benefits and limitations of making this music as a collaborative unit?

VB: I had to meet Insa Schirmer, because she is my daughter's cello teacher. One day my daughter brought me this CD with a cello duo as a gift from her teacher, and I wasn't really inspired by the artwork as it looked like a copied CD-R. Anyway, somehow it got into my CD player and when I was listening to it, I felt that these two girls were doing something exactly like I am [but] using cellos. So I gave Insa a CD of mine and we circled around each other for a while.

For the new album, I had always the idea of collaborating with strings, and so we met for two days in a concert hall in Düsseldorf and recorded strictly improvisations with no overdubs. After those days I had 45 compositions. Five of the improvs are on Ferndorf. So these tracks we composed together as a trio.

Pitchfork: You began classical piano lessons at age nine and pursued training for over a decade, while discovering rock and soul music as a teenager. You've previously noted that this love for other musical genres sparked an interest in developing your sound in less "strict" terms, and enabled you to see the piano as more than a "pure-toned, perfected instrument"-- hence your experimentations with its sound and your employment of the "prepared piano" set up, using wedges of felt and leather between the keys (among other things). Could you explain more about how you modify your instrument for live shows? What are some of the surprises you've had while experimenting with different objects?

VB: I had a record deal with Sony in the beginning of the 90s, and I was rapping and singing in my band. We went on tour a lot and we played the same show every night. I was bored to death and thinking more about the minibar and the after-show party than the performance.

Now I am surprising myself [at] each show, and the delivered piano often surprises me. Sometimes the piano is so old that I don't have to prepare it, and sometimes I have a concert grand!

Preparing is quite simple, as I use material that I bring with me or that I find at the venue, or in shops or at hotels or houses where I stay. I also sometimes lose things and then others come to me. I was actually very surprised after using some plastic necklaces on the strings, as the sound was very bright. Sometimes I just put something inside that lies next to me...

Pitchfork: You often apply modern electronic techniques to the piano, upturning more traditional approaches to playing while giving it dominant percussive roots and allowing space for other textures. Do you feel that experimenting with this method allows you a different sense of freedom than one might have if they stuck to an "ordinary" piano?

VB: I wouldn't say that, but it seems to be the best option for me, as it gives me the freedom to change my habits and my normal approach to the piano, which I find thrilling. It's as if you're going to work every day on the same road, and suddenly it's blocked and you have to go another way. You miss some roads, you have to stop and find orientation, you get thirsty so you stop at a gas station [to] get a drink. You meet a man who asks you for help because he ran out of gas; he gives you a record as a gift for your help, you play the record, and it is one of your favorite bands. You arrive at your work and you feel different from all the other days.

Playing pure piano can be exciting in the same way, and in its sound it's so breathtaking that I can imagine to get back to the puristic style at some point.

Pitchfork: You've said that spending time researching different elements of sound enables you to take your explorations of the piano further. What particular sounds were you researching while composing the music for Ferndorf?

VB: I had two different aspects in mind: One was to find an opportunity to play more drum or percussive elements without being tonal. So I did more percussive soundscapes, like on "Barfuss Durch Gras". The other was more in the direction of experimental chamber music and orchestration. Ferndorf is an album that mainly touches those extremes.

Pitchfork: Have you found working with electronic gear restrictive in the past? Do you prefer just to perform with the piano at the moment?

VB: I can't say that electronic gear is restrictive. I think it is a challenge to play with electronic gear, and I regularly [perform] concerts with guys who are processing sound. But the opportunity to use a computer is great when it is used as one component, or when someone is working on his or her own sounds and approaches. I think it actually has the same restrictions as using the piano or any other instrument in [a traditional] way. I am already moving to not get into that trap, which is not easy.

Pitchfork: What other composers were you listening to in the early days of beginning to record as Hauschka?

VB: I was only into pop music and a few composers like Chopin and Schoenberg. I was listening to bands like To Rococo Rot, techno music from the German label Kompakt, like Michael Mayer, or electronica like Lali Puna, the Notwist, and Taylor Dupree. I had some piano records from Keith Jarrett, Duke Ellington, Thelonius Monk, and Sylvain Chauveaus' first album on Fat Cat. It sounds like a huge range, but I was always interested in finding the elegance of each style and understanding why it influences so many people.

Pitchfork: You've toured with labelmates Colleen, Max Richter, and Múm. Who else do you consider contemporaries of yours in terms of piano music, and in other areas?

VB: Jóhann Jóhannson, Goldmund, and Eluvium, who have quite a similar approach besides Max Richter. From the older generation, Charlemagne Palestine, John Tilbury, Michael Nyman, and Steve Reich. From other backgrounds I think I have connections to Sigur Rós, My Bloody Valentine, and Animal Collective. I see connections to some Raster Noton or artists on the Touch label. One very big influence is Stefan Schneider's group Mapstation. He is one part of To Rococo Rot and Mouse on Mars, who are also based in Düsseldorf.

Pitchfork: Your first paid job as a musician was composing for a German television series, which allowed you to devote a couple of years to making music early on in your career. You always had an interest in film, and even performed the lead role in an English film, Bloksky, directed by Jeff Desom. Are there any particular films or directors that have had a powerful influence on your music, and if so, in what ways?

VB: Yes, that was a crime series, and for some years it was saving my life-- we could always buy equipment from that money.

I am inspired by the films of Pedro Almodóvar, as they are funny, sad, and extremely weird. I am a big fan of the Coen Brothers; I like their kind of absurd, dark approach. I also really like the films of Tom Tykwer. The music of Michael Nyman for the Peter Greenaway films is great, as is the soundtrack by Nick Cave for The Proposition and Ligeti's soundtrack for Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey. There are many more.

I think the connection to film is the story, as I like stories a lot, and I like the influence of pictures on music and the other way around.

When I read a script, I am already in the movie with my music, and I can dive into a world that I haven't seen before. Even films without music are inspiring, as I think a good story is full of changes, different paces, and ideas. In a way, I pick out the films that have a same attitude as music that I like. I think there is also a big question in how much music a film needs-- a lot of films are overloaded for my taste, so that the story can't carry its own weight.

I can't really say that film music inspired me; it is more the films themselves, in connection with the music.

Pitchfork: The inner sleeve of your third album, Room to Expand, featured a re-print of a letter you found. The inner sleeve of Ferndorf is printed with a response to this letter: an email written by an old friend of the original anonymous letter writer. How did you feel when you received this email? The story behind it is quite extraordinary...

VB: As I said before, I really like stories, so in a way it doesn't matter for me if they are real or fiction. I get a lot of emails where people are writing me their experiences, how they discovered my music, what they feel... they motivate me to carry on with what I am doing.

The found letter on Room to Expand is for me one of the saddest, but at the same time the most touching love story. I felt a strong connection to my record, as Room to Expand was dealing with a lot of fragments of found stuff. Also I [bought a copy of] Found Magazine, which was very interesting. I like that people are releasing found letters, which are sometimes extremely intense.

The email that answers the found letter is in the same way very touching, and somehow talking about the inner struggle that everyone has-- rich, poor, young, or old. It's the feeling of giving your life a direction and finding out that it is not as I have learned from people in my village... that you finish school, get a job, find a woman, marry the woman, buy a house, get kids, go still to work, get grandchildren, retire, die.

In my case it's a search for fulfillment and finding a good reason why I am on earth, and if there are things I can do for the good of all human beings. These letters are full of these questions. My music is also one part of my inner process, and people also seem to connect with me on that-- especially the ones who have the same questions for their own lives.